


shot to the heart

by magisterequitum



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's this?" Constance asks, flipping the sheet over so she can see the actual print on the other side. </p><p>"A solution!" Her roommate says, closing the refrigerator and joining her on the open part of the couch with a bottle of water. </p><p>"To what?" She can feel her face scrunch as she reads the bolded words. "Rifle club? How did you even find this?"</p><p>(or proof that Constance and d'Artagnan can have a meet cute in any universe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	shot to the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theepiccek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theepiccek/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, Cait! And also I suppose Happy Graduation as well! Something small and little for you, but I hope you like it anyway. <333
> 
> Also this has a lot of references to others in here, but all could be expanded maybe at some point in this au.

"Men are absolute dicks." The vodka burns down Constance's throat, either in punishment for her statement or in approval, she's not sure. She has to fight to keep her tongue from curling and her body's instinct to retch. Vodka has never really been her choice in drink. 

"Amen!" Anne says, enthusiastically clinking her own shot glass down before following behind Constance.

Constance leans back in her chair, the wicker backing of the cheap bar seat creaking, and slides the shot glass away. She works her tongue around her mouth, trying to clear the vodka out. 

"He's a creep. You're better off now." Her roommate sets her glass down and screws the top back onto the vodka bottle. 

"Yeah," she says on a long exhale. "You're right." 

Anne shuffles her elbows on the bar top, body curving over the sink that's on the other side from where Constance is. Big eyes blink and then her mouth purses. "Another?" she asks, picking up the bottle's neck and waggling it a bit. 

Thinking for a moment, she nods and sighs, "Another."

 

 

 

When Constance emerges from her bedroom the next morning, her mouth only partially tastes fuzzy. The apartment's quiet. Given that it's Wednesday, that's not a surprise, since Anne's Econ classes are all early, before noon. 

She heads straight to turn on the coffee maker. It's then that she notices neither one of them have bothered to clean the dishes in the sink. The rest of their tiny place is littered with textbooks, her various clothing sketches and Anne's business notes, as well as a few pairs of shoes commingling. It's not the messiest college apartment she's ever seen, but it's certainly not the cleanest. 

Her own marketing class isn't until after lunch, and so she's hoping the coffee will rejuvenate her body enough; along with ibuprofen that she notes to grab from the bathroom. 

The chime from her cellphone brings her back to her bedside, shifting the sheets and pillow aside till she finds where she'd wedged it before falling asleep. As she swipes her finger across the lock and sees the name next to the text message, she can't help the disgusted noise she makes. 

**Jacques** : ' _Can we talk?_

Part of her is surprised he had the courage to actually text her. But then she remembers that he's quite possibly one of the most idiotic men she's come across, so then there isn't any surprise. 

It's not that Jacques Bonacieux is a terrible person. It's just that he has no regard for others beyond his own thinking and self, something that Constance had regretfully discovered. 

She supposes she should have listened to Anne when she'd told her something was wrong about him. But that had been the problem, he'd not seemed all that bad on the surface. It had been the little emotional words that twisted inside of her and ate at her. Until now here she stands in her bedroom. 

It takes her several minutes to type back, _Leave me alone_ , and then delete his number from her contacts. 

The coffee maker is done and she really needs to brush her teeth. 

 

 

 

Two weeks later Anne drops a blue piece of paper on top of her sketches when she glides past the couch to the kitchen. 

"What's this?" Constance asks, flipping the sheet over so she can see the actual print on the other side. 

"A solution!" Her roommate says, closing the refrigerator and joining her on the open part of the couch with a bottle of water. 

"To what?" She can feel her face scrunch as she reads the bolded words. "Rifle club? How did you even find this?" 

"A guy in my class gave it to me." 

The little smirk on Anne's face tells her who. There's only a few people Anne willingly associates with in her business classes. "You mean Aramis gave it to you?" 

"Actually," she takes a sip of water and snaps her fingers. "Porthos did. But they're both in it. He told me I should come watch them. Apparently Aramis is the best." 

"You two would say that," Constance says, raising her eyebrow. She's tried asking before what goes on between the three of them, but all she knows is that ever since Anne stopped seeing Louis from her first-year Poli Sci class, she jumped to meeting Porthos in business ones, and now all three are together in some fashion. The dreamy looks on Anne's face whenever they come up tell her enough. She looks back down at the flyer and then up again. "So you want me to come watch people shoot a gun?"

"Well, not exactly. I mean you can if you want, but I was thinking more along the lines this could be something you could join." Her friend's blue eyes are earnest and wide. 

"Why?" Constance slides her sketches out and puts them safely down on their coffee table. It's one of the nicer pieces of furniture they own, having come from Anne's parents. 

"It's something for you to do, you see?"

 _Oh._ She figures her quiet nature around the apartment and campus hasn't gone unnoticed. "I see." 

"Hey," Anne reaches over and touches her arm. Her voice is soft, losing the light inflection she'd had earlier. "I'm sorry. I don't mean it as something that will just fix everything. I just know you've mentioned learning before and thought this could be a fun little thing. You don't have to at all." 

"I have, you're right." Her friend is kinder than most people she knows. It makes it hard to ever say no or want to say no to her, but it makes it easy to say yes knowing there's no ill intent. Besides, she has always wanted to learn since first-year seminar seeing the organization on campus. "Alright. Let's go." 

 

 

 

In order to be a member of the University's Rifle and Pistol Club one has to take a safety class first. 

Which is all well and good because Constance knows the basics of firing a weapon but really knows nothing else other than that. Somehow it hasn't come up in her marketing or fashion design majors. 

She watches Anne further down the line as she's taught the correct stance by Aramis, Porthos offering comments over both of their shoulders. 

"Do you need help?" 

Constance blinks and nearly drops her safety glasses, turning to see that she's no longer alone in her little box. She's been joined by a boy with brown hair that falls over his forehead and a too earnest face. He's gangly limbs and he has to be younger than her Junior status. 

"Yes?" she answers, only realizing that she's phrased it as a question. "If you can," she adds.

A flush turns his skin darker from its normal color. "I'm not as young as I look," he mutters as if to himself and not really to her. "I'm new, but I can still teach you." 

She shuffles to the right as he reaches for his glasses to put on. The movement draws her attention to his arms and the way his shirt pulls tight, and then to the pin close to his neck. "Oh," she says. "You're part of the fraternity. With Aramis and Porthos."

He smiles, and the white of his teeth and dimples make him look even more open. "You know us?" 

"I know them. And Athos too." The named man has a year over her, being a senior, but he'd taken marketing classes with her. 

"I'm d'Artagnan. I just joined the fraternity last semester."

Anne's laugh carries downwind and Constance looks around d'Artagnan's taller form to check. Pulling back satisfied, she says, "And now of course you all are joined here to shoot things." 

"You're here too." He waggles his eyebrows at her, a slow smile curling his mouth upward. 

She exhales, a soft noise that's a conceived laugh. "Fair enough point." 

When he doesn't say anything and continues watching her face, she has to clear her throat, feeling her own stomach turn and her face heat up. "Are you going to show me how it's done, then?" 

That gets her a blink and an even bigger smile, shyness still lingering. "Alright." 

 

 

 

Later, d'Artagnan teaches her how to raise the rifle properly and aim at the target. His hands settle lightly over her jean clad hips, breath against her ear. "Nice and steady." 

She doesn't hit anywhere close to the perfect marks Aramis gets, but she does hit the target. 

It makes her yelp in excitement, smiling and getting a smile from her teaching partner next to her. It's nice to have this. The concentration needed makes her focus solely on this activity here, not letting her entertain thoughts of anything else. It's refreshing. Not perfect, but nice. 

"I'm Constance, by the way," she says after they've stepped away from the box and towards the equipment area. 

"Nice to meet you, Constance." 

It really is unfair how adorable he manages to look. 

Which is exactly what Anne tells her later. She can't disagree.


End file.
